


Those Tavnazian Girls

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Final Fantasy XI
Genre: Background Femslash, Crack, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trion goes to Tavnazia looking to make a match. It doesn't work out so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Tavnazian Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "I'm Tickled Pink" by Jack Shaindlin (from the Fallout 3 Soundtrack)

In the interests of reconnecting to the former Marquisate of Tavnazia, Crown-Prince Trion made the trek across the meadows of Lufaise to meet what the current Tavnazian ambassadors (a set of Tarutaru triplets who considered themselves 'entertaining' of all things) called the closest thing to the princess.

Sure they had called her ugly and mean, but then they called him clumsy and stupid, so he had to imagine they were used to speaking in opposites. So he entered the safehold with the highest of expectations—a tall, copper-headed vision of classic Elvaan beauty dressed in Tavnazian finery.

The 'princess' had, in fact, been Elvaan. She had also been a half-pint and hyperactive, and even worse she had the nerve to call him 'kid'.

Still, he had to retain his gracious demeanor and let her down gently. He knelt before her, took her hand and looked straight into her eyes. "I am Prince Trion of the Kingdom of San d'Oria, I was told of the beauty of the Lady Prishe of Tavnazia, and request that she allow me to court her…" His words trailed off as his gaze strayed beyond Prishe, to where his classic Elvaan beauty smiled in what had to be the most divine amusement.

"No offense," Prishe rolled her eyes, "but you're not my type at all. You'll just have to find someone else to marry."

Trion moved to protest that of course he was her type—a handsome Elvaan such as himself was everybody's type—until he realized that this was the perfect opportunity for them both to walk away without causing the type of international debacle common when high-ranking Elvaan get romantically rejected.

"What of red-headed one? Perhaps you could introduce us. She is incomparable to your pearl-like radiance but perhaps…"

Prishe shook her up. "I don't think you're her type either. And even if you were…" she jumped into a monk's counterstance, "you'd have to duel me for her."

"Prishe!" The ginger beauty called out, "that was entirely inappropriate." Her face was now a bright pink, gorgeous. "Don't mind her…you'd think she'd have learned some manners."

Trion glared at the half-pint before turning on his charm for this glorious vision. "It's all right. One cannot expect a proper education here in this backwater. But you Miss…"

"Ulmia."

"You appear to have a level of refinement that would be coveted by even the highest San d'Orian nobility. Perchance you would be willing to allow me to court you."

His beautiful Ulmia shook her head and shared a knowing glance with Prishe. "While I'm afraid Prishe has no respect for protocol, she is correct. You are not my type at all."

But Trion was everybody's type! He imagined that if he had somehow had a streak of insane masochism emerge in him, he could even seduce the rhyming sorceress Shantotto. He muttered something about the uncivilized Tavnazians who had clearly gone stir-crazy from their years of isolation after the war. San d'Oria would be better off forgetting about their former allies.

It was after he left that evening when he saw two figures cuddling and watching the sunset together that he realized exactly what they meant by "not their type."

And then Trion didn't feel so bad. In fact—it made him feel quite manly.


End file.
